It Never Ends Ronnie RadkeMax Green
by coveredinblood
Summary: It's been years since they've visited. But something is wrong, and Ronnie can tell. Maybe for Max it's not the drugs. Maybe it's something he's been hiding. That easily could've killed him, too.
1. That I'm okay, That I'm fine

The old ironic taste stayed on his tongue. The same old lingering taste. Stayed for two years and even longer. The fact is that he wanted him back. He missed him. He missed the drunken mistakes and highs. He's just been alone. Hidden from the rest of the world. He hasn't seen his brother since '06 and now it's 2014 and he's sitting alone in an apartment with a lone mattress. He finally got his money but he's not even going to spend it. It's just been darkness for him. For Ronnie.

Because of Max.

Ronnie was crumbling from the inside out, telling himself that he's fine. He's not. He couldn't tell whether it was buried hate or current lust but his feelings were contradicted. The fact is that he knows he's gone. He's nothing anymore. No one actually gives a shit about Ronnie Radke. He doesn't know Max does though. Max is just sitting in his own empty apartment just small hours away from where Ronnie lay. Max's high is still current, and that's why he's gotten kicked from his bands.

Max rolled over, the past smoke clung to his lungs sending burnt signals to his eyes. He tumbled off his mattress his hands searching for something to help him up. Clinging onto the lamp post he stood, blundering towards his excuse of a kitchen grabbing a bottle of vodka and taking a gulp as breakfast.

Thoughts clouded his blurred mind as he slid down the wall. Max ran his fingers through his grease-filled hair, un-clumping strands. The bottle slipped from his grip, the glass shattering on the tiled floor. "Fuck" Max groaned as he pushed his foot into the shards in disturbance.

Before his eyelids shut once again, a knock sounded on his door. He could barely move, he crawled to the door using the doorknob to pull himself up, he opened the door. A look of astonishment crossed his face.

"Uh. Hey Maxie." Ronnie said, putting his shoulder on the intoxicated boy.

"What are YOU doing here?" Max stuttered, trying to pick a piece of glass out of his foot but falling over on the ground.

Ronnie took it upon himself to walk in, and help him. He leaned down and collect shards of glass out of his now bleeding foot. "Do you have bandaids anywhere?" Ronnie asked, going through his cupboards like he owned the place. All he found was prescriptions, lighters, and empty bottles.

"No." Max finally spoke after a while. Ronnie shrugged and sat down on the floor by him.

"How do you live like this?" Ronnie asked.

"Like what? I'm still how I was almost seven years ago, Ronnie. I'm still here. I'm still doing everything. Fuck rehab. I'm having fun. I'm having fun alone. I'm having a great time never saying a word to anyone or seeing anyone's face. The best time ever." He exclaimed, but Max was choking up towards the end. The tears pooled and over-flowed.

Ronnie didn't know what to do. He's been sober. But craving again. But he needed to be here for him. Though he hasn't for years. He did all he could do. And that was pull him in his arms. They stayed like that for a while.

It's like the old days.

But only one person was fighting addiction.

And lost.


	2. Is it still me that makes you sweat?

It was close to 10:00 am and I decided to be kind and take the old friend out to eat, it seemed like he didn't eat anyway. It was kind of humbling knowing he's going through what I went through, possibly worse. But it was depressing at the same time. He's got no friends, no purpose, no band, no happiness. I've got a dog back at home, but he just has his addictions that he feeds into alone. The man also must not shower at all, because his stench just filled my car when he stepped in and sat in his baggy coat and his shaggy long hair pulled back in a ponytail.

It was pouring rain out, the single droplets splatting against the windsheild and grouping together on the sides of the road as we drove throughout the streets of California. Strange weather for Cali in May though. I had an idea where to take him, where we used to go every once in a while on a weeknight. The old diner that had cracked tiled floor and cheap burgers.

Some of the booze must've worn off on him, because he seemed yet more awake and aware of what was going on. Upon his nose hung his old glasses that he's had for at least eight years, the same expression too. It's strange, all of a sudden it's like nothing has changed. The nostalgia was eating me inside out. This is all so cheesy, but I don't care. I actually want him better. Was that too much to ask?

Both of us pulled in the parking lot, hopping out of the car and walking into the diner. Max reached out and grabbed my hand, drugged memories pouring back into my mind.

I held onto his jacket as we left the house, us stumbling, numbed by the poison. The bright lights coming from the building were distant, blurred. Max opened the back door of the small van that was used to go around the US with, pushing themselves inside the empty place. I laid on the ground, effortlessly kissing his lips.

The tight situation in my jeans was too much for him as he undoes my belt, I gently shove my tounge in his mouth as he roughly continues sliding off my pants. I caress the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and grasping his shoulders. He slips mine off too, bare skin touching and causing friction.

I moved my lips down to his neck, tenderly sucking on his collar bone. Broken moans escape from his mouth, as mine trails down his chest and to the top of his pants, that I take off quickly as well as the boy's underwear. He's on his stomach now, rubbing his back carefully I thrust into him quickly.

Before we knew it, it was over. His fingers were entangled in mine, leaving that imprint of his hand in mine forever.

"Ronnie." Max nudged me, as we sat in the booth of the diner and the waitress towered over us. "Oh" I said, returning to real life. I ordered what I usually got six years ago, as did Max.

"So, er, How have you been?" I awkwardly questioned him as he pushed his glasses back on his face. "Good" he lied. "I dated this one chick then she cheated on me, I got kicked from Escape The Fate, and I grew my eyebrows back. What about you, Radke?"

I put my hands behind my head and leaned back in the booth, placing my shoes by him on the seat across from myself. "Normal. I've been clean for years and I have a dog that I love and a friend I work out with." Damn, I sound like a douche bag. Max nodded, arching forward and playing with the salt shaker.

"How was touring with Craig Fag- I mean Mabbitt.?" I caught myself, I honestly need to let shit go. Maybe he did them good. Just maybe.

"Fine. Until he got drunk or high. Then that was a nightmare..." He drifted off until the waitress returned with the food and cut his words. "I don't really want to talk about it here." Max mumbled, as he untied his hair and let it fall infront of his eyes. Before he did, I noticed built up tears.

What had he done?


End file.
